


Tom Riddle and the Will of Hogwarts

by smilingcrescent



Series: The Will of Hogwarts [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, DADA has a different teacher, Grey!Tom, Hogwarts Fifth Year, M/M, Pre-Slash, Tension, Voldemort has a Plan, grey characters, not a redemption story
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-18
Updated: 2014-03-07
Packaged: 2018-01-09 03:57:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1141142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smilingcrescent/pseuds/smilingcrescent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Alternative 5th year. Skewed timeline: not canon. ) </p><p>Harry is obsessed with Riddles. Tom Riddle is no longer the brilliant student in Hogwarts class of 1945, but is something else altogether. He appears to be either a Horcrux or nothing more than memories and magic, unnatural as any chimera. He is suspected of being his grown-up self's accomplice by Harry Potter, but also untrusted by the Slytherin spy, Snape; yet Tom Riddle must obey the Will of Hogwarts. Can Harry ever look past Tom's former self's sins?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Discrepancies

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** I own no rights or ideas related to the Harry Potter franchise. I make no money on writing or posting this fiction. 
> 
> **Warning:** on hiatus.
> 
> (Also, please note: HP/TR　slash / boys love. I do **not** write smut (pr0n or lemons), but do enjoy a spot of snogging...when we get there.)
> 
> A/N: Expect a slow build up for the Tom/Harry-ness. In the meantime, I wrote a “skip the getting together!!” bit for your amusement—for the impatient, please read my “For Love of Flying” for a hint of what’s to come.

**Chapter 1:** _Discovering Tom_

Harry Potter walked as if in a dream. The halls of Hogwarts seemed to call to him, to lead him to—Harry frowned, unable to finish that thought. A feeling of foreboding, some sense that thought was important, and yet inexplicably out of reach. His footsteps echoed through the empty halls, but still, neither teacher, ghost nor fellow student passed him.

Harry looked past the deep shadows, and something rang deep within him, like a song playing from heart to mind. He walked on. The doors to the library were always closed after hours, but Harry walked in that direction without worrying. Something waited for him there; he could feel it.

And just as he suspected, the doors were as they always were: solid, dark wood with magical flames dancing behind glass fixtures. Instinctively, Harry walked past these, touching a stone with his hand and a nondescript painting with his wand. A corridor opened to his touch, where no light dwelled. 

“ _Lumos._ “ Harry whispered. Through the corridor and into the library. There, curled underneath a tall window, was the form of a boy half hidden behind books and scrolls. Harry’s breath caught in his throat. 

“Excuse me? Are you hurt? You’re not really supposed to be sleeping here…when Madam Pince comes back, well, you don’t want to be the first student she sees in the day.” Harry hesitantly moved forward, craning his neck to get a look at the figure.

Harry gasped and took a step backward. As he pulled away from the young man, his gaze flew to the surroundings. There wasn’t another soul in sight, and there were no signs of deadly spells or traps yet. Even so, something had pulled Harry out of bed, and something more had led him here.

“Who?” In that instant, Harry recognized the boy, and hastened to pull his wand from his pocket and stood ready for an attack that could come at any moment. 

He quickly threw up a shield charm and made to send red sparks out the window. It looked as though it would pass harmlessly through the window, as it was designed, but then something strange happened— as soon as it hit the glass, it fragmented into gold, white and yellow. The light lingered for a moment, its warm light like a lantern. Nothing to attract anyone’s attention. 

Tom Riddle stirred, and slowly opened his eyes. “Hello Harry.”

Tom blinked slowly up at Harry, and stayed perfectly still, watching the light fade into nothingness. Finally he made to move out of the window. When his eyes found the wand Harry was pointing at him, he frowned. “Put that down. And why are you trying to alert the whole castle to the fact that we　 _both_ are breaking curfew?” 

Harry kept his wand level. 

“Though it seems you're having a bit of difficulty. What is it you're trying to do?” His eyebrow rose elegantly, though his smile was mocking.

Harry glared at Tom suspiciously, his mind racing. “How did you get in the castle? What are you— what do you mean we're both breaking curfew?” He shook his head, as though this could undo whatever the Dark Lord was planning for Harry in the school library. 

Tom frowned, a puzzled expression flashing over his features before he composed himself. “How am I here? I'm often in the library...” he glanced at the rows of books and tables, and absently put a hand to the wall.

Anger and fear warring, Harry half screamed his confusion, “What happened to you—you didn’t look like this… I’m warning you—” If Riddle so much as took a step forward...

Tom held out his hands, and tried for a laugh. “Harry, this is ridicu—”

Harry stared. His heart was beating hard in his chest. He saw flashes of the graveyard, the ritual and that frightening face. Just talking to Riddle made his blood race. He felt oddly light-headed, and his stomach churned with nerves. The whole of the affair was just too much. Voldemort _couldn’t_ be in Hogwarts!

“You should be dead.” Harry thought he might be swaying, but his Quidditch practice served him well—he didn’t move at all. “The diary. It’s gone.” His tongue was thick and dry in his mouth. “…that day…in the graveyard…you weren’t like this. You can’t have come _here!_ “ Harry’s voice gradually rose.

Tom remained oddly calm, with no sneer or glint of anger that usually hinted at the Dark Lord’s madness. “You don't look well, Potter. Why don't you go to the nurse? I'll just be going to...bed.” Tom's expression was unnaturally blank, and Harry felt a subtle sense of calm waft over him.

“Stop trying to force your will on me, Riddle.” Harry hissed. He slowly backed away, keeping his wand trained on the immobile form of Tom Riddle until he reached the door.

Tom merely followed him with his eyes, a smirk slowly spreading across his features. “What are you talking about?”

Harry shook his head, throwing the suggestive magic off with ease. “I can resist you. I can always throw off the Imperius.” He snapped. “What do you _mean?_ You can’t possibly just…just go to bed! You don’t belong here—you don’t go to school here—”

“Yes I do, Harry Potter. I am currently, ahh, researching in the library. What _you_ are doing here remains a mystery to me, however.”

“No you aren’t! And I would know—I’ve been at Hogwarts for five years!” 

Tom didn't look pleased to hear this. He looked puzzled again.

“You can’t stay.” Harry warned him. “And no matter where you hide…I will find you.” With that, Harry reached the door, and fled through it.

 _Tom Riddle is here._ he thought, over and over as his feet hit the stone. _Tom riddle is_ here, now. Harry's feet echoed on the flagstones. He made no effort to hide his noise, but this time, the castle didn't seem so deserted; he wasn't being led any longer. Portraits complained of the noise and the light, and Mrs. Norris yowled as he turned a corner.

He reached the familiar gargoyles at last.

“Harry!” Dumbledore seemed genuinely surprised to see Harry standing in front of his office. He stood rigid, his features and robes cast in cold blue light of the orb floating silently behind the headmaster.

Harry blinked rapidly, squinting until Dumbledore lessened the intensity of the light. “Professor—he’s here! In the library—”

Dumbledore held out his hands, more commanding and frightening in his demeanor wearing vivid robes than anyone had the right to be. “Professor Snape,” Dumbledore called, his voice echoing down the stone walls. He never once looked Harry in the eyes.

“Headmaster?” Snape appeared in the gloom, his features cold and disagreeable. “Potter! What are you doing out of bed? Headmaster, clearly _Potter_ is out of bounds. Better to send him back to his dormitory than listen to his excuses.”

“I saw something. Something important, Headmaster—we need to talk, sir, it’s important.” 

But Dumbledore had already turned away from Harry, refusing to so much as look at him. Just like after the Dementor trial.

“Well, Potter. If you truly have some information about the disturbance? Follow me.” Snape drawled, turning away from them both.

Harry seethed, and looked anxiously back toward the library. “Sir, I need to speak about Order business. Dumbledore—” 

“Has better things to do than listen to tales of your juvenile pranks, Mr. Potter. _Follow._ ” Snape’s acidic tone left little room for argument. 

Sullen and angry, Harry followed. 

Snape’s office wasn’t exactly dark, but it wasn’t well lit either. Rows and rows of potion ingredients lined the walls, with that slanted script Harry recognized from years in his classroom. Snape paced the length of his office and turned sharply on his feet to look Harry in the eye. 

Harry felt his jaw set. “I saw Tom Riddle in the library, sir. He wasn’t like the memory, though. He was like….” Harry gestured futilely. “Solid. It wasn’t like what I saw in the cemetery. Could he have made himself look like that?”

Snape was silent for a long moment before he put a finger to his temper, as though he had a particularly persistent headache. “Potter.” He said tiredly. “You seem to be laboring under the assumption—again, I might add—that Tom Marvolo Riddle is his father. Can your pathetic little mind _still_ not comprehend this fact? You saw the Dark Lord return to the flesh—you witnessed his return. Where was Tom Riddle then? He was _here,_ of course, with the rest of the castle. Witnesses, Potter, can attest to his _continued_ presence while the Dark Lord was otherwise occupied.” 

Harry gaped, having a hard time processing more than two of those points. “His _father?_ Again?” 

Snape pressed on mercilessly, unwilling to wait for Harry to comprehend. “Regardless, Tom Riddle is your classmate, and for reasons beyond me, he has been awarded ‘special researcher status’ this year.” His lip curled. 

“That doesn’t make any sense! Tom Riddle _is_ Voldemort. And how could he have gone to school here? I’d remember! He even has the same name…and probably even the same memories. How could he _possibly_ be so…the same?” 

Snape stared at Harry, his eyebrows raised. He clucked his tongue derisively. 

“That’s it.” Harry muttered to himself. “He’s modified your memories. Professor…if you just _ask_ anyone, they’ll tell you. Riddle is _not_ just a student—he doesn’t belong here!”

Snape again turned sharply, his cloak swishing as he took several paces forward. He loomed menacingly inches from where Harry stood, thrusting his long face closer than Harry would have liked. “I will hear nothing further on the subject. Better, qualified wizards than _you_ would know if the Dark Lord walked these halls. I suggest you visit Madam Pomfrey and check to see if you haven’t been Confunded. There are records of Riddle’s enrollment. Twenty points from Gryffindor for purposefully misconstruing information about a fellow student in order to support your _virulent_ accusations. You are _dismissed,_ Potter.” 

Harry lifted his chin and stood up straighter. He opened his mouth to protest, but Snape was really just too close to risk it. He nodded tersely, and nodded. “Yes, sir.” 

Snape withdrew, and a satisfied smirk was the last Harry saw of him. 

Harry stalked off as fast as possible, thinking. _What is he doing in the castle?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now that Tom has thoroughly confused Harry… the story must go on. ♥ Also, Snape is fun to write. ♥ Tom is a manipulative little devil, but Snape has a wicked tongue. XD


	2. Classroom Duel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No matter what Harry says to his friends, they won't believe him. What is Riddle planning?

Days later, Harry couldn’t believe it. Snape not only refused to hear his complaints, but the headmaster was also ignoring him. Meanwhile, school went on. Students went to class, teachers assigned homework.

Tom Riddle walked the halls.

Harry couldn’t believe his ears. Never before had his school year sounded so much like…well, fantasy. Previously, fights for his life had only broken out randomly at the end of term—they weren’t heralded by a youthful version of the snake-like Voldemort. Or in this case, not-so-snake-like.

“It was just strange.” Harry finished summing up (for perhaps the third time) to his friends. He paced in front of his friends’ chairs in the Gryffindor common-room.

Hermione and Ron exchanged glances. “Um…Harry? I understand that it must be quite frustrating to be lectured—” Hermione began.

“And what, twice by the old bat!” Ron interrupted. He waved his hands wildly and narrowed his eyes as if to mimic Snape’s scornful gaze. “He’s always really nasty and all holier-than-thou— all at once even—isn’t he? Enough to drive anyone nutters if he gets on you too long.” 

Harry blinked slowly. “I don’t follow.”

“But Harry!” Hermione exclaimed. “Tom—”

“—the third—” Ron snickered. (*1)

“—has already checked positive through all the tests we could think of. He’s perfectly human, and definitely not older than _us._ “ Hermione knocked into Ron’s arm a little as she spoke, shooting a very prim look in his direction. 

“When did we do these tests?” Harry asked slowly.

“Second and third year.” Ron supplied.

Hermione continued as though they hadn’t interrupted. “And you know McGonagall said not to antagonize him about his parentage. It’s just a rumor, and no one wants to be related to You-Know-Who…if you bring this up again…” she looked nervous. 

Harry stared at her, stumped. Clearly, something was going on here that even Harry’s friends couldn’t accept. Then again, Hermione hadn’t been willing to consider Snape a suspect in first year, and Ron hadn’t been able to accept Harry’s non-volunteer-status in fourth year. He frowned at them both.

“Hermione.” He started. “I destroyed Riddle. His diary, his memory—it’s all gone—so if this _Tom Riddle_ shows up all the sudden, it isn’t a coincidence! It’s Voldemort!”

Hermione and Ron winced. “Harry…” Ron started in for the both of them. “You know that isn’t right. How come he has to be You-Know-Who? He has his own body.”

“And it’s not sudden.” Hermione added. “Four years is not sudden.” 

“And the diary was a _memory._ I remember what you thought…and still think, apparently…but Tom hasn’t done a thing to anyone in the years since!” Hermione argued vehemently. “You need to stop assuming things about him, Harry. Just because of his name….” she turned slightly pink. “He can’t help it any more than you can.” 

Harry looked between the two of them, exasperated and confused. The conversations they were alluding to… “I don’t remember any of this. I’ve only met Tom _three days ago._ How could we have talked about Riddle and his _heritage_ before? He only just got here!” 

Hermione pursed her lips. “That’s ridiculous.” She looked up suddenly, and turned to look around the Gryffindor common room. “Collin!” She raised her voice. “I was wondering if you could show us some of your photo albums…” 

“Oh!” Collin replied cheerfully. “Yeah, sure! Do you wanna photo—” 

“No, Collin, just the albums, thank you. We wanted to…er, look over some memories or something…” Hermione turned back to the two of them. She lifted her eyebrows expectantly. 

Ron was nodding enthusiastically while Harry sank into the plush armchair. “This is getting ridiculous.” Harry muttered. 

Hermione ignored the comment and smiled triumphantly. “Just ask _anyone,_ Harry. Fred and George could tell you about the time when he was locked up in the dungeon storerooms…”

“Completely on accident.” Fred cut in, looking up from a game of exploding snap. 

“Well, we might have told him there were some supplies he needed there…” George added wistfully. “I mean, we were _only_ trying to help.”

His twin laughed. “How could we have known the walls would suddenly decide they didn’t need a door?” 

“Took old Snape a few hours to magic a new one. For some reason, he couldn’t seem to convince the walls they weren’t immune to the spells…” They both had a good laugh at that. 

“That isn't the point!” Harry exclaimed, still glaring. “There is no way you all can remember any of that, and how could Colin possibly photograph—” Harry stopped midsentence as Colin returned with an armload of albums. 

He giddily handed each of them a book, opening his mouth to speak with unequaled enthusiasm. “This one is the one with the TriWizard tournament. That's my personal favorite, you know, since I've gotten my technique a lot better and it's all well shot and all, but what with the political atmosphere and the sad ending, no one will really look--”

“Yes ,thank you Collin.” Hermione replied kindly, already opening the first of the albums--Collin's first, and their second year memories. She flipped through pages of Harry determinedly stepping out of photos, and photos of the more impressive magical features of the castle. Finally, she stopped at a photo of none other than Tom Riddle.

Riddle was not looking directly at the camera, as some of the other students were, but curled into himself, leaning against the table and ignoring all the hustle around him. His expression was not the haughty, bored one of the Tom from the diary (and he did indeed appear to be around 11 or 12 years old), but a slightly perplexed, sullen boy. This was not the photo of an insidious Dark Lord in training, but of an irritable child.　 

Harry scowled at it. “How?” He ran his fingers through his hair, more suspicious than ever.

“See?” Ron tapped the photo. “You can see him again at the Quidditch Match— you know the one where you caught the snitch right after Dobby broke your arm with that bludger...You can see him again at the stands— right after you broke your arm,— “

Harry snatched the photo. “I told you not to, Collin.”

“Yeah, and this is what happens when Collin gets his camera shoved. A blurry shot of the spectators, not the team. Cool effect though.” Ron added.

Collin beamed.

“This didn't happen. He wasn't here that year. There's no way I'd forget that Tom Bloody Riddle was a year behind me! Nor would Ginny!” Harry exploded, thumping the photo album with more force than strictly necessary.

“You're impossible! This is nonsense. How can you just completely write off someone's entire existence when the whole school insists otherwise. Really Harry, I know you two don't get on—”

“Hate each other's guts, you mean. Come on, mate.” Ron said with false cheer. “It isn't cool to blame someone our age for...uh...” he looked at Hermione. “Sins of the father and all that.” 

“How could I not hate him? He's Voldemort in the flesh!”

The entire common room hushed at that. The ones who thought Harry was lying scoffed or snorted and the ones who knew better stayed wisely quiet.

“And if you two are going to ignore that fact and not even listen to my evidence, well, you can,” Harry stopped, struggling for words. “Be that way.” he finished. 

“Nice one, Harry.” Fred teased. 

“You told ‘em!” George agreed. 

Cheeks burning and confusion at an all time high, Harry fled the common room, intent on finding Riddle. He'd stalk him if he needed to...but Harry was getting answers now. Harry barely heard his classmates shuffling and gossiping as he hurried down the halls.

_Why is he here? How could he be?_

He'd not even stopped to grab the Maurauder's Map, but he thought he knew where to find Tom. It would either be the library...or a certain girl's bathroom on the first floor. Harry headed for the stairs.

As soon as Harry got close enough, he slowed his pace and took several deep breathes. It wouldn't do to get too angry at first. He'd have to hold his temper, and learn something before taking action.

It wasn't so late in the evening that the place was deserted. He'd passed a few students on his hurried flight down, and now a familiar voice assailed him.

“—don’t know how you did it,” she said in an angry, ever-louder voice that didn’t sound in control at all, “but I’m…” then all the sudden she wavered, as though unsure what to say. The anger drained out of her.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Tom said evenly. Just as before, he was calmer than he had right to be. In fact, he made no move at all, merely watching Ginny as she looked for the courage to face the old ghost. His cool demeanor snapped her attention back into focus as she recalled another boy, another careless listener. 

“I don’t know how you got a body,” Ginny seethed, her chin rising with her voice, “or weaseled your way into the castle, but you’re not going to fool anyone this time around.”

Tom’s smile returned. He watched her through half-closed eyes, as though she was barely worth his time or notice. Like that, he looked far too smug and cocky for a supposed fourth year. “Fool anyone?” he asked softly. “I’m not exactly trying, Miss Weasley. I am as I appear to be…a fourth year student in Hogwarts who has finally been granted special research status just this year.” 

Ginny’s eyes narrowed suspiciously, and her agitation brought her skittering to the side of the corridor. “I don’t buy it.” She sounded nervous, but determined. “And no one else will either, once Harry and Dumbledore catch onto the fact. That you’ve done a memory charm.” She was rambling, letting the words come too freely. “You’ve cursed them or something, and I’ll do _everything_ in my power to take the veil from their eyes—”

Tom raised his hand just a little, and made a motion like he was casting something aside. Harry felt the oddest sensation—a bit of magic? Or was he just sensitive to Tom due to the curse scar connection? “Ginny,” Tom said slowly, soothingly, “I know my…essentially-skipping-two-years may have bothered you…” his smile was back for a moment, but he masked it with a sincere look and a twitch of the lips. “…but really. Antagonizing me is hardly going to help.”

“You just appear out of nowhere and expect everyone to take it with a smile and a nod?” 

“Quite frankly, yes.” 

She shook her head furiously. “Have you possessed someone, and—and used dark magic to change your face?” She was very still then, and the anger made her voice tremble. She had gone white.

“Ah. Not this again…” Tom muttered.

“What?” Ginny asked sharply. 

“I’ve been here as long as you have. The diary was someone else. _Not me._ ” he reiterated. 

“Rubbish! You just got here—I know! I could feel it.” She pressed a hand to her chest. 

Harry wondered briefly if he had felt it, too. Was that what the strange pull had been? When Harry found him in the library, had Tom just been resurrected?

Ginny stormed out, obviously out of words. She nearly ran into Harry, but she only looked surprised, maybe hesitant. She didn’t stop to talk, just let her legs carry her in the direction Harry had come from.

Tom turned slowly and met Harry’s gaze. He lifted his chin, as though inviting Harry’s accusations. But Harry decided that perhaps going back to the common room after Ginny, seeing how she brought up the subject would be a better move. For now, he knew so little about Tom’s magic that he couldn’t think of where to begin. So he turned on his heels and walked away.

Just hoping he hadn’t let a murderer wander unchecked.

* * *

Later the next day, Harry and the others took their places in the defense classroom. 

Harry rolled his eyes, too tired and frustrated to feel anything like contempt for their newest defense teacher. He’d thought Quirrel was bad, and the mysterious, omen-reading defense teacher that’d come his second year was truly boring, but Lockhart was something else altogether. In the first two weeks of class, he’d managed to impress them all with his good looks, hair products, and penchant for a good story. Or at least, that’s what Hermione said. 

Harry remembered the first day of class…

_“Open your books to Chapter One.” Lockhart intoned as Superintendent Umbridge beamed her smug little smile. Lockhart never quite looked her in the eye, but that only seemed to please her. “The ministry will have you all go back to the basics, yes? So! I’ve found the best way to memorize something is to, ah, copy it. So take out some spare parchment, and copy the headings into your parchments. It’ll serve you very well for the test.”_

_Umbridge, upon seeing her pawn operate such, had left satisfied._

The next lesson had shocked them all when Lockhart proceeded to sell them all _additional_ books that he promptly acted out. And only Harry would do for the monsters. _“That’s it! Show those fangs there, yes Harry. That’s precisely what vampires do before they attack, and you disarm them just so—” he jabbed Harry noncommittally with his wand while stage-whispering, “Yes, that’s where you fall. Very good.”_

This class, while entertaining to anyone who liked to watch Harry humiliate himself, proved no more useful than Umbridge’s prescribed lectures. 

_We can’t have this in our O.W.L. year._ was a common complaint, and that was what Harry fully expected to be focusing on this year—that and the mysterious visions of a locked door.. Students met to form the DA only two weeks before Halloween. Then Samhain came, bringing Tom Riddle swiftly on its heels. 

Harry sighed as Lockhart began talking. 

“Defense spells and jinxes require a lot of precision, boys and girls. Mispronunciations don’t just cost you a badly performed spell. Oh no,” Lockhart shook his head and offered the class a shake of his hair, “It could cost you your _life_ in a duel. Oh yes. Just like in my duels described in my books.” He waved his wand and a copy of the textbook page appeared enlarged on the blackboard. 

The illustrated hand repeated a gesture, next to the words “Flipendo!” (The Knockback Jinx, though Harry remembered that it had been taught in their first year class).

The only other illustration on the board was “Stupefy!”

“Right then! Let's have some student volunteers to demonstrate the technique?” Lockhart beamed down at them.

There was a shuffle as a few students groaned, closed their eyes, or sank lower into their desks. At that very moment, the door opened, revealing none other than Riddle. Harry stood up and glared at the other boy.

“Perfect! Two volunteers. Tom, Harry, please proceed to the front of the class.” Lockhart beamed.

Harry, who would have been alarmed at being volunteered ordinarily, did not actually notice until Lockhart wandered closer.

Riddle barely smiled. The flash of teeth and the calculating look he gave Harry was more than enough to give him pause, and Riddle addressed Lockhart, though his eyes were on Harry. “Is it all right if I intrude, Professor Lockhart? I understand that every year is studying the same material, and I happened to notice this class is...ahead of schedule.” He glanced at the board.

Lockhart nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, our Lady Superintendent did me the courtesy of informing me of her schedule. She shan't be visiting us again until next week, more is the pity. Though I doubt it'll be a long one. We get along famously.” He winked at Tom. “Now, if you boys could demonstrate for the class?” Lockhart waved vaguely at the stage. The illustrated hand appeared to applaud them for a moment.

Tom hesitated for a heartbeat, but he smiled and walked briskly up to the stage. Harry found himself given a push by Ron, and given an encouraging look by Hermione.

“On three,” Lockhart was saying, but neither Harry nor Riddle was listening. Both were acutely aware of the tension between them, every minute movement of their wand hands.

“ _Flipendo_!” Tom said, barely after Lockhart had begun to say “One.” There was no light accompanying the spell. Instead there was a strange rush of air, almost like a breeze. The spell was meant to be blue when cast at the easiest level, or purplish red light after the caster charged the jinx.

A mere second behind Riddle, Harry's voice rang through the classroom, “ _Stupefy_!” Followed by a burst of red light.

Riddle dodged with a step to the left, doing so more smoothly and gracefully than Harry would have expected. A smile danced on his lips, and he shook his head slightly. “ _Flipendo._ ” he said again, and there was mockery in his voice.

Harry reflexively drew up the _Protego_ with a word, and walked just out of sight. The eyes of his classmates were all on him, he knew, but all he saw was Riddle. He didn't trust him. He didn't trust him to use a non-lethal curse even with all these witnesses.

“Ah, boys...” Lockhart's voice was getting a little panicked. “Er. Boys? Just a demonstration. Stand still and let your classmates see--” he was cut off by Harry's second _Stupefy_ rebounding off the wall. Lockhart slumped to the ground, passed out.

Tom raised his hand. “Harry Potter,” his voice carried laughter, but his face was all gentle rebuke. “What did you do to your professor?” He gestured to the class, his eyes landing on Hermione. “Can you do the ‘Rennervate’ spell?”

Hermione’s voice shook with disapproval. “You stunned the professor! Both of you! I can't believe this,” but she rushed over to Lockhart.

Harry glanced at Lockhart, then at Riddle. “The Professor wasn't supposed to get hit.” He glared at Riddle, “ _He was._ ”

There was dark muttering at that. A few Gryffindors exchanged knowing glances, and someone stage-whispered, “He thinks he can get away with it. He thinks he can do anything now.”

“What a twat! Jinxing a fourth year,”

Hermione had just managed to cast the counter jinx, her expression sweetly concerned. “Professor?” She asked, uncertain.

“What?” Lockhart blinked several times, dazed. “Ah. Yes. Yes, I thought that would be a good demonstration. I, um, that is, I expected to be the one awakening the students, but I suppose...” he lurched to his feet, still babbling, “my heroism got the better of me. Took the shot for Riddle here, did I?”

The class stared on in disbelieving silence.

“Um. Excellent. Not quite what I had in mind, but a wonderful show, nevertheless.” Lockhart muttered. His smile was distracted as he wildly looked from student to student. “Er, Pair up then. Practice the, uh, yes. Practice the ‘Flipendo’ now.” He began to pair the students up, taking no more notice of Tom or Harry.

Swiftly, the class was divided, leaving Harry partnered to Tom. 

“Get out of our classroom, Riddle, before you contaminate someone.” Harry hissed. He closed the distance between them, frowning. “The library. What did you do? I bet that little show you put on was pure Dark Arts. What did you do to my spell?”

Tom cocked his head, amused. “You mean that spark? That was simple. Your will wasn’t strong enough. Did it take you three days to think of it?”

Harry, outraged, bore down on him. “You—”

“'The dark arts are evil,' people say. The more generous critics simply say it corrupts. But what magic doesn’t change a person? All magic leaves a mark on the caster, Harry.” Tom lifted his chin. “Your complete dismissal of an entire branch of magic is ridiculous. Do you think the Death Eaters won’t use Dark Arts on you because you’re so stoutly against it? That idea is naive at best and stupid at worst.”

Harry and Tom circled slowly. “You think you’re so smart. You’re the one who’s been seduced by power. Why would I believe anything you said?”

Tom laughed. “Heads up, Harry. Don’t want the Professor to think you’re attacking a poor fourth year, do you?” 

“You’re a genius granted special permission to practice with us.” Harry pointed out stiffly. “He’s hardly going to think you poor or—”

“Harry! Tom!” Lockhart had evidently failed to successfully correct a few others’ dueling, so turned back to ‘help’ the pair. “That’s enough practice, don’t you think? Now let’s read the chapter on jinxes and counter jinxes from the prescribed textbook, and take notes from _A Year with the Yeti,_ chapter thirty-nine. Does anyone need to purchase their copy?” 

Harry sat down stiffly, and Riddle gave him a haughty look before saying, “Well, now that the practical’s done,” he muttered, then pitched his voice to carry. “Thank you, professor, but I have to be going.” 

“That is too bad, isn’t it?” Lockhart smiled a sad smile. His teeth sparkled in any case. “Harry, pick up for us from the top. A bit of reading aloud should get us into the feel of things. If you would.” 

Harry was too busy watching Riddle leave, his mind racing. Riddle was at Hogwarts for a reason. He only couldn’t figure out what that reason was. 

“What was that about?” He asked quietly, only to get an elbow in the side.  
_He smiled like…_ Harry shook his head. There would be time to decipher Riddle. Later.

“Harry.” Ron warned.

He had to keep from losing his head completely, and focus through the rest of the school day-- there was a Quidditch match to worry about, and he wouldn't let Tom Riddle take that from him.

Harry turned reluctantly back to classwork, though his mind would not clear the vision of Riddle leaning forward to strike from his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (*1)Yes, technically, Tom Riddle (if he actually is the son of Voldemort, as Ron seems to think), would actually be _the fourth._ But Ron wouldn’t know that.
> 
> Memories of Tom status are meant to be questioned, pondered, and raged at (if you’re Harry...)


	3. The First Vision and Preemptive Assault

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Ginny work out a plan to deal with the young Dark Lord, but Harry isn't patient enough and seeks him out on his own...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I always wanted to read a Tom/Harry fic where Ginny was kinda cool, but haven't found one yet. So I decided to put Ginny in mine and try it. Let's see how it goes.

After Quidditch ended with Malfoy and his cronies riling up their teammates, the Gryffindor's celebrations were somewhat subdued, especially with Harry paying so little attention to his classmates. He was still obsessing over Tom's whereabouts, and had noticed when the pale boy was nowhere in sight during the game. He left the others after quickly returning to the tower without even grabbing his invisibility cloak. 

Tom was doing a remarkable job at ignoring a Decidedly Not Invisible Harry. He continued to walk through the halls, stopping to tap a section of bare stone or to glare at the occasional painting but didn't acknowledge Harry's presence at all. Or at least, he didn't until a knight in armor blocked Harry’s path.

“Shouldn't you be lamenting my presence back in Gryfindor?” Tom drawled.  
“I'm sure your friends will be quite eager to assure you of my presence here for the last four years, and chide you for any unchivalrous behavior in defense. Or at the very least, they can compliment you on a 'game well played.'”

Harry stared for a minute, not completely comprehending what Tom had just said. The words seemed to fly through his mind and barely registered. Then Tom was standing right in front of him, his eyes malicious and cruel as ever they’d been, and that smile quirked upward in dark amusement. 

Harry jerked back. “You—” he sputtered, and he pressed farther into the wall. It offered no shelter.

Tom stepped lightly. “You,” he mimicked, “are really rather persistent, aren’t you?”

Harry scowled fiercely. “I’ll not be letting you wander off wherever you just _feel like_ going. I’m going to stop you—” 

“Stop me from what? From getting an education like any other wizarding child?”

Harry shook his head. “You were never like _other_ children.”

Tom's lips formed a thin line and his eyes glittered with anger and humiliation. He looked murderous for a moment, and then the expression vanished, and he turned on his heel to address the wall in a light tone, “No, this is still too close to the Great Hall. And don't you think it's draftier here?”

Harry stared. Was Riddle _talking_ to himself? “…you really did just get here, didn’t you?” He asked, some of the anger leaving him. “I suppose I should congratulate your cleverness on getting past the wards.” 

“Calmed down, have you then?” Tom queried softly. His mocking tones seemed more restrained than before even so. “You’re rather angry most of the time, you know.”

Harry opened his mouth to make an angry retort at that, but thought better of it. He settled for looking cross. “Why does Dumbledore and everyone think you’ve been here for years?” Harry demanded. He didn’t really expect Voldemort to explain to him, but this visage…this aspect of him might. Harry stepped around the obstacle, deftly ignoring the pointed bits of the armor, and leaned in closer. 

Tom's eyes flicked up and down, as though taking the measure of Harry. “I could ask you a question or two as well...I admit to being a bit...curious...about the boy who killed Voldemort.”

“So you admit it! You _are_ Voldemort—”

Tom, bored of waiting, shrugged lightly and moved away from Harry. He started walking down the corridor much as he had before he drew the armor out in front of Harry.

“What spell did you use? What are you doing here, Riddle?”

Tom snorted. “You ought to know the spell.”

“What. Do. You. Mean?”

“Answer a few questions, if you don't mind. Don't lie, Harry Potter.”

Harry, unwillingly, felt his eyes flash to the back of his hand. Between that Umbridge woman and all the others, his sanity was always under question. It was second year all over again, with that skinny professor who egged on all the rumors. _Slytherin’s heir. It’s wizards like him you need to protect yourself against._ It was a distinctly unpleasant memory, and he pushed it away. “You answer me first.”

Tom raised an eyebrow. “Now who’s trying to force magical compulsion? More than your wit in that statement, now isn’t there? When did you manage to learn that?”

 _There are strange likenesses between us, after all. Even you must have noticed._ the memory of the diary had said in the Chamber.

Harry felt his stomach drop. 

Tom pressed his lips into a smile. “Well now. Tell me your side...what happened last year? The grounds were greatly changed...the Quiddich pitch, for one...And why is there a curse on the Defense position?”

“Why should I tell you anything? If you’ve really been here for four years, you’d know. I'm going to get everyone to realize that you _manipulated_ their memories and Hogwarts Castle itself!”

“Herself.” Tom corrected.

“What?”

“Hogwarts is...something of a 'her.'“

Harry kept his wand level, swishing it towards the other boy. “...what work... is this about Returning to the Flesh? Are _you_ the new flesh? Well, it's an improvement, but still— “ 

Tom raised his hand, his dark eyes flashing. Without a whispered word, without so much as a wand, he made things happen. 

Instinct alone kept Harry moving, had him ducking and pressing close to the wall. He watched as the mailed fist whizzed above him, and then Harry skipped over as the armored foot stepped where he had been. Harry stopped only when it did, but remained flat against the wall, watching for more signs of attack. 

Riddle’s voice washed over him, unconcerned. “I am not your Voldemort. Stop your accusations and leave me alone. I have things to do that do not include _you._ ”

Tom Riddle left.

* * *

Harry's scar burned even asleep. Instead of the old dream of the door, he saw something like the old house from the year before. 

He groaned into his pillow even as the images sharpened into focus.

“You have come to my rally,” Harry said quietly, “because we share a common goal.” Compared to the others, Harry was pale and otherworldly, strong when they were quaking. The wand in his hand felt like an extension of himself. 

There was a pearly glow of light emanating from somewhere above, and it concealed as much as it illuminated, casting everything in strange shades of blue and white. Harry saw the house with unguarded eyes, and he noticed the way magic clung to the air. There had been Creatures in and out of the house, and there had been a great deal of magic—his magic—done over the past few months. 

“We are making progress with the guards, I believe.” A flash of smoky black forms, soulless eyes swaying before a dark building. Dementors, somewhere outside the house and waiting for orders. He would make them wait, starve them just enough to make them vicious. “Soon, we can make a move to attack.”

“My Lord, but the Order-- it is still too soon. We must wait until the others are freed. You said yourself we will soon have the Giants--” Lucius Malfoy said. He could hear the tremor in that aristocratic voice, and it reminded him of something he couldn’t quite remember. 

“Do you dare question me?” Harry hissed. “They already have seen too much!”

“My Lord, no, My Lord.”

“Groveling doesn't become you, Malfoy,” though Harry felt pleasure rush over him like warm water. He _did_ like them to grovel. “I suppose you are right...the Order must wait until we have it.”

The sigh of relief and more groveling was cut off as Harry began to speak once more, “Do you really expect me to bend to your will? I? The greatest Wizard of our time?” his voice was soft as wind through thistles.

 _No, no, no. It’s a dream._ Harry jerked in his bed as pain wracked through him. The link was severed as he bit back a gasp. He opened his eyes to see normal flesh. Just the canopy curtains pulled tight around him. 

Something came to him. _Voldemort was looking for a weapon. Voldemort was outside the castle._ He hadn’t mentioned Riddle—more he hadn’t even thought of him. _Unless Riddle’s the weapon?_ Unease filled his stomach. 

Still catching his breath, Harry eased himself out of bed. As quietly as he could manage, he lifted a quill and parchment from his things and set quill to parchment in the solitude of the midnight common room.

Sirius. He would write Sirius. 

_Padfoot,_

_I had another dream. I need to tell you about it. But more importantly, did you know who is in the castle this year? Tom bloody Riddle, that’s who. And he’s managed to trick half the castle. Dumbledore and Snape don’t seem approachable. Who else in the old crowd can I contact? Stay safe. I think someone saw you on the platform._

_Harry_

Having written that paltry letter, Harry felt mildly better. At least enough to go to sleep, at any rate. He groaned, thinking of all the classes he’d have to sit through on so little sleep. Not to mention the young version of the Dark Lord running amok. He wasn’t against posting letters in the middle of the night, though, and young Voldemort or no, he was having his letter mailed. He sent Hegwig off with no one else the wiser.

The next morning came sooner than it had any right, and with it, the morning owls. Instead of Hedwig’s white wings, however, a small brown owl dropped a letter in Harry’s lap. 

“Where’s Hedwig?” Harry wondered, frowning. It wasn’t so far a flight to Grimmauld Place—she should have been the owl delivering the letter. He hurriedly slipped it from the carrier, opening it there at the table.

_Harry,_

_Don’t put any of that in a letter! Try talking to Dumbledore again. Also, Hedwig arrived injured. Be sure to see to her. Your letter seemed garbled—did someone hex it or you? This letter business isn’t working. See you in the fire, Monday, midnight._

_Padfoot_

“Who’s that from?” Ron asked, his mouth full of sausage. “It isn’t—er, Padfoot, is it?”

“Harry! You shouldn’t do anything to attract attention to him,” Hermione whispered. As though that act in itself were not suspicious.

Harry rolled his eyes. “It’s nothing. Just a letter. I need to go check on Hedwig, though— Padfoot said she was injured.”

“That’s awful! Who would hurt a post owl? Isn’t she that lovely white owl?” Padma sympathized, clearly eavesdropping.

“Er, I’ll just be going to check on her,” Harry said, casting his eyes over the Slytherin side of the hall. Riddle was nowhere to be seen. 

Suspicions raised, he decided to make the trip up to the Owlery, Ron and Hermione on his heels. The high ceilings were missing one snowy owl, however. 

“We’ll need to check with the professors—maybe she went directly to someone who could treat her,” Hermione soothed.

“I bet it’s Riddle. He would definitely sink so low to attack my owl.”

“You better hope not, ‘cause any of those Slytherins might let word slip.” Ron said. The thought of one of them giving Sirius away was enough to make Harry’s head hurt. 

Morning classes couldn’t end soon enough. Divination was always hard to sit through, especially with the ridiculous amounts of dream interpreting, but today, Superintendent Umbridge’s presence made the whole experience that much worse. 

“A prediction.” Umbridge was saying. “That’s all I ask…surely, if you are a true Seer, such a simple thing should be in your power.” 

Trelawney drew herself up, clutching her shall and beaded hair things around her. “The Inner Eye,” she announced dramatically, “is a Gift. It cannot be forced!” 

Though he might have ordinarily enjoyed Trelawney being subjected to questions, he was not in the mood for it. Harry waited impatiently, restless at the thought of that evening’s Fire Call. 

Harry caught himself looking at the time again, painfully counting his heartbeats. The whole ordeal would be over soon, wouldn't it? 

“So you have no predictions,” Umbridge simpered, putting another large check on her clipboard. “I see.”

Harry bristled, even though he wasn't exactly keen on the Divination professor. But he managed to keep his protests to a glare in her direction—he couldn’t have another detention with Umbridge. Not tonight. He clenched his teeth and breathed deeply several times.

“It's the principal of the thing, really” Ron apparently attempting a consoling attitude shrugged as they made their way down the stairs. “She may be a cracked professor, but she's our professor! That old hag...”

“Listen, I'm going to make a quick trip to the library...” Harry said, not eager to pursue the conversation. If he had to wait to talk to Sirius, he at least wanted a second opinion of someone willing to listen. And Ginny was often in the library, recently.

Ron looked a little surprised at that, but let him go with little argument. “Going to meet a girl, hm?” he grinned.

“No, I need to discover how to break Riddle's curse over everyone.” He called back, rather louder than necessary. “Remember?”

“Right,” Ron said uncertainly. “Wait, what curse?” His eyes seemed to glaze for a moment taking on a silver white gleam. As Harry walked away, Ron seemed to be editing the exchange they’d had right before Harry’s eyes. “Right. Forgot you had that essay for...who was it? Flitwick does like to give essays instead of detentions...”

Exasperated but not surprised, Harry headed for the library.

Ginny was where he expected to find her, tucked away in the Curse Breaking section of charms. She had a book of Runes open as well, and an impressive array of parchment and quills set to copy bits she'd selected with her wand.

“How do you do that one?” Harry asked by way of introduction.

Ginny jumped. “What?”

Harry gestured. “The highlighting spell.”

“Oh. It's a copy charm Hermione taught me over the summer.” She shrugged, and her soft brown eyes sharpened as she took in Harry's appearance. “What brings you here? Isn't it time for lunch?”

“You're the only one who notices about Riddle.” Harry sighed. “I got tired of everyone not listening.”

“Oh.” With Ginny's attention fixedly on Harry, she did not seem to notice as one of the quills started writing on her robes. “What are you going to do about it then?”

It, she'd said. Riddle was an _it_ to her. For some reason, this made Harry's stomach churn.

“We need Riddle gone.” Harry said simply. “So. What were you thinking?” 

It felt strange to be talking to Ron's little sister like this, including her on a plan that _ought_ to have been just him, Ron, and Hermione. But if she recognized Riddle for what he was, he supposed at least...conferencing...was acceptable. He supposed talking to her was the best way to start.

“Oh.” Ginny said again, and then she noticed the quill. She yanked it away from her robes, and started it on a fresh parchment. “I...I thought we could try a revealing charm. Time it just right so Professor Flitwick would notice. Or McGonnagal.” 

“And then what? Watch as his spell rewrites their memories? They get this thing-- a little...like they're not seeing what's in front of them? Like they're changing what they just heard. He's done something to the way they think.” He sighed, and ran a hand through his hair. “I don't know that there is a spell to reveal him for what he is.” 

“Unless we could somehow keep him from casting the spell? Maybe if he weren't in the castle...” Ginny’s eyes lit up.

Harry felt the smile forming as he nodded. “So you keep on with your bit...” he nodded at the quills, “and I'll see how we can get him out of the castle.” He headed toward the Jinxes, Hexes, and Curses part of the aisle. “Oh, and I'm not skipping lunch. I'll just go in late. You too?”

“Me too.” Ginny replied softly. Her expression was hidden by the wave of fire-red hair, but he thought she might be relieved.

They continued to research in silence.

* * *

“Sirius!” Harry called, his voice low and nervous. “Sirius, it’s time isn’t it? I saw you a minute ago. No one’s here but me.” That was of course because he’d chased them all away with conspiracy theories—which worked like a charm. Literally in fact. 

“That Superintendent was at your mail, was she?” Sirius said by way of greeting. His grin was wolf-like even though fire made up his features, he was obviously pleased to be talking to Harry. “Tell me everything.” 

“I sent Hedwig in the middle of the night.” Harry admitted. “I wasn’t there when Hedwig came back—another owl delivered the letter to the Great Hall. She must have been attacked in the night if you saw her injured. But how could she?”

Sirius nodded, looking thoughtful. “She wasn’t badly hurt when she arrived. Just a few feathers ruffled, but thought you should know.”

“Her wing was broken when she arrived back.” Harry scowled. “I think Umbridge had something attack her. So obviously, letters aren’t safe. But that doesn’t mean _fire_ chats are either!”

Sirius laughed his doglike laugh. “Then let’s use the mirror next time, eh? You haven’t even opened it, have you?” He accused. “I tried warming it instead of sending a reply, but no. Nothing. I feel slighted, Harry Potter.”

Harry was confused. “What?”

“The mirror!” Sirius explained impatiently. “James and I used to use it when we were serving separate detentions. You can even use it inside your canopy if you have a nice silencing spell. Ask Hermione to teach you if you don’t remember any.” He said that so casually that Harry was annoyed. 

Did his godfather think he wasn’t any good at charms? Granted, he didn’t know a silencing charm, but wasn’t about the tell Sirius that. “I think someone saw you on the platform.” He leaned in urgently. “That Superintendent woman is really horrid. She’s making trouble for everyone.” 

“Umbridge, you say? Governors finally got someone on their side in? They had to wait for Dumbledore’s name to be marred so much though, didn’t they? She won’t last long. Just wait it out, and in the meanwhile, make her life hell. Quietly, mind.”

“We started this defense club…” Harry said hurriedly. “Because Lockhart’s pants. No one’s learning anything—half the time he follows Umbridge’s instructions: only book learning and lots of boring lectures. But as soon as she’s gone, he’s back to messing up gaudy demonstrations. It’s good for a laugh, actually.” He grinned half-heartedly.

“In your O.W.L. year.” Sirius replied with a frown. “Couldn’t have worse timing. A laugh’s good and well, but you do need to learn things.”

“But she’s got this new Decree. Number what’s-it. No student bodies aloud to meet without her permission…even Quidditch!” This stalled the conversation for several minutes as the two of them digressed to badmouthing people who didn’t understand their sport. 

“A student club.” Sirius mused. “Be good for you though. Learn to be a real leader—like your Dad.” He gave Harry an appraising look. “And with You-Know-Who back, all those kids need to know to defend themselves. Death Eaters aren’t going to go easy on them just because they’re Hogwarts students.” 

Harry bit his lip. “That’s the worst thing. He’s here, in the castle. Voldemort is turning classrooms into breeding grounds for baby Death Eaters, and he’s learning everyone’s weaknesses.” Or at least, that’s what Harry assumed. “He’s Confunded the whole castle!”

“Harry?” Sirius’s voice in the fire was warped. “Harry, I can’t understand you. We’re br…ing …p.” It was as though something whispered louder than the flames, a whistling, a hallow noise. Something like a woman’s voice. 

“Voldemort!” Harry said very slowly. “In the castle. The weapon!” 

And then, something more horrible and frightening than the sudden interference in the Fire-Call. A fat hand with too many rings grasped above Sirius. 

Harry started and Sirius’s eyes widened. He ducked out of the fire entirely. 

Harry bolted, heart slamming around his chest. _Why?_

* * *

The next day, Harry decided to put his plan into action. He spent the free periods doing homework and catching up on essays they’d been assigned throughout the last week, and only ventured out of the tower for meals. It would be better, after all, if Tom didn’t know what was coming.

Harry allowed himself to actually attending practice in the afternoons. They planned on flying from after lessons to just before dinner, an endurance practice that Angelina had been on about since school began. It was just as well: outside in his gold-and-crimson robes, Harry was extremely visible. Perhaps visible enough for Riddle to let his guard down?

“All right everyone! Good practice.” Angelina called, signaling the fliers to land. When they did, she grinned at them, and eyed the setting sun. “Fred, George, you keep playing like that and we’ll be unstoppable.” She continued to comment on each player’s work, offering compliments and areas to improve in equal measure. Finally, she said to Harry, “Brilliant maneuvers, Harry, but you fly like a madman. You need more reason behind your moves, Harry, or you’re going to dive headfirst into the ground.” She sighed. “Get whatever it is bothering you under control, ok? Now everyone, let’s get inside! Get cleaned up before dinner, and get your homework done. Umbridge can’t stop us from playing if we all keep our noses clean.” She gave Harry another significant look.

Harry merely nodded, his eyes drawn to the Astronomy tower. “Right.” 

They walked in the direction of the castle, and Harry wordlessly listened to his classmates’ chatter, but he couldn’t concentrate. Riddle needed to be gone, and Harry had a sneaking suspicion that things would go in his favor if he acted _tonight._ So Harry bid his classmates farewell after changing. “I’m gonna swing by the Room.” He said vaguely. “Need to check up on something.” 

Members of the DA group just grinned at him knowingly and let him be on his way. 

Instead of heading to the Room of Requirement, Harry stalked Tom down the halls, Quidditch gear stowed in a bag on his shoulder. He’d taken to carrying the Marauder’s Map with him, and Tom’s dot was smudged a bit, which struck him as strange, but the boy hadn’t moved from where Harry had seen him. He hurried up the stairs, ignoring the curious looks of passersby (few and far between at this late hour. Now that the sun had set and Umbridge was likely on patrol.) Tom should by all rights have returned to his common room, or be at dinner. That he hadn’t was suspicious to say the least. Harry eased the door open, tip-toed through the domed area, and headed for the bridge. 

_Creak._ The sound was like an alarm. Harry dropped his bag of Quidditch things and ducked on impulse. 

Riddle looked up in surprise, his dark eyes on Harry before he could dodge. Riddle was tucked into the archway, his slender arms crossed over his chest. He didn’t move. 

“ _Locomotor Mortis_ !” Harry said.

Riddle barely managed to duck Harry’s spell, moving a little slowly as he motioned at the floor Harry stood on. 

Suddenly Harry was aware of cold all around him, leaching the warmth from his body. He looked down at his legs, which were starting to feel like lead. He was so startled to see his legs slowly sinking into the stone that he nearly lost his balance, an act which undoubtedly would have broken bones. 

“Potter.” Riddle sneered. “Can’t you stay _out_ of my business?” 

Harry put his wand to the floor, unable to say anything as fear raced up and down his senses. What would happen if he sank farther? Would he be able breathe, or would he pass down through the stone and fall through the tower stairs? 

“There’s no use struggling.” Riddle mocked. “Don’t attack me again, and I’ll help you out.”

The burst of fear and anger, helped along by his wand touching the stone, helped Harry propel himself out of the stone and at his opponent. He stumbled closer to Tom, his legs still stiff. He was barely thinking.

Riddle, if he was surprised to see that Harry had gotten out of his trap, did not show it. He hissed slowly, though the words were lost to Harry’s ear. It felt as though darkness was spinning into Riddle’s words, and the cloying scent of some spice flooded his senses. 

_Voldemort was casting a dark spell at him._

He couldn’t think—he didn’t know—he was all alone on the Tower, having rushed off without telling anyone. No one would know where to find him. All these thoughts slipped in and out of his awareness, and he cast the first spell he could think of.

“ _Expelliarmus!_ ” He felt a surge of relief as Riddle’s hair fluttered, as something twitched out from behind Riddle’s sleeves. There was a twig of a thing, not the Yew wand he’d seen in the Graveyard. It still seemed alive, snapped perhaps from a tree. There were offshoots with _leaves_ snaking around its length.

Riddle’s magic didn’t stop with the loss of the stick, however. Harry didn’t have time to wonder what that meant as Riddle completed his spell, causing Harry to lurch off his feet and slam headfirst into the wall. 

“You,” Harry gasped, his head spinning. Something hot and wet trickled into his eyes, and he wondered, horrified, if he’d fractured his skull. 

“Don’t worry.” Riddle’s smile was friendly again, his expression devoid of anger. It was creepy to see him so thoroughly unphazed. He stepped forward, and only his clenched hands gave him away. “You aren’t concussed. I stopped just short of that. Though really, the spell is meant to cave your head in. Pop. All your brains on the tower floor.” 

Harry staggered to the side, gripping his wand. His breathing slowed. If Riddle was telling the truth (which was likely, unless he wanted to kill Harry now, and not go back to stalking the Castle halls), he wasn’t going to black out in a few minutes.

“Turn around and head to the Nurse. Say you fell off your broom.” Riddle advised, already turning away from him. 

The compulsion in his words angered Harry past common sense. Without a regard to his injury or the place where he’d picked their duel, he snapped his wrist and yelled, “Stupefy!” 

The red jet of light was enough to make Riddle stumble. In that moment, Harry took his chance.

He tackled the boy from the side, propelling them both toward the edge of the tower. One more push, and they’d both fall.

“Potter—”Riddle began, panic edging his voice. “You can’t—”

They fell. 

Riddle cursed as they fell, and began to chant another spell even as Harry was summoning his broom that he’d dropped at the threshold. It raced for his hands, sped along by his force of will. There’d be no cushioning charm if he crash-landed this time. 

Riddle shrewdly grabbed ahold of Harry even as he stopped chanting. He began a shrieking noise that called up a wind that impossibly slowed their descent. Riddle seemed to float for a moment, and then Harry’s hands firmly grasped the handle.

He should have watched Riddle fall. Should have kicked him off, but instead he decided in that instant what to do. _Drop him outside the wards. I’ll trust the castle’s defenses not to let him in a second time and hope an Acromantula will eat him._ He grasped Riddle by the wrist, even as cold fingers grappled for purchase. 

“Put me down!” Riddle hissed.

Harry noticed he could see the whites of Riddle’s eyes, and that the wind had done a rather thorough job of mussing his hair. He looked, simply put, terrified. The realization made Harry’s heart lurch, and his fingers tingle. 

“Can’t stop now,” Harry murmured. “You can’t stay here.” The wind might have carried his voice away for all notice Riddle took of it.

It was as though the wind chased them. It howled and it buffeted against him, a strong gale so different from the natural weather he’d practiced flying in just a half-hour before. He wondered why Riddle wasn’t casting hexes and dark magic; he knew for a fact the Dark Lord could do such things even wandless. Which left him to assume that something was wrong with Riddle. His wand (that stick he shattered with the Expelliarmus) had bloody leaves sticking out of it, and he hadn’t tried a single spell Harry recognized.

The edges of the grounds were racing toward them. Harry could see the dark shapes of the trees looming there in the distance. Riddle followed his gaze. 

“No!” his voice had the familiar anger and arrogance in it. Harry thought he sounded very like the diary had as the Phoenix had blinded the ancient snake. Even now, Riddle’s gaze burned with hatred.

Harry’s conviction steadied. He increased his speed, planning to stop suddenly at the edge of the estimated barrier. He would stop so quickly, that inertia would send Riddle flying a fair distance through the air. The trees’ branches were light and springy there—a student’s magic would surely keep him from breaking his neck or back. _It wouldn’t be murder,_ Harry assured himself, even as he braced for the stop. 

Riddle made one more motion with the hand that wasn’t gripping Harry’s wrist. Out of nowhere, the wind collided with them, this time from the side instead of behind and spun the broom in a spiral. 

Riddle cast his weight to one side, further unbalancing them so that when the barrier was close enough for Harry to pull his stunt, their speed was significantly reduced. 

 

Riddle had managed to direct the course as effectively as a Bludger. They hit the tree. Harry’s glasses fell slightly, skewed so he saw in fractions—he had to move swiftly to avoid hitting a second tree. 

His headache returned full force with his eyes stinging and vision blurring. What hadn’t a concussion been before seemed likely to become one shortly. He glared down at Riddle—and this too was a mistake. 

Riddle caught a branch with his other hand, said something Harry couldn’t catch, and dropped harmlessly. His feet were still on the well-tended lawn that marked Hogwarts land. 

Harry’s robes caught against the branches while he watched Riddle. He barely had enough time to stop the Firebolt from colliding again, and only years of practice kept him out of obstacles. Then something seemed to leap out at him, sending him crashing to the floor at last. He landed heavily, thunking his head into the not-so-soft earth. He lay there for barely a second before reflexes made him lurch to his feet. He whirled to see what Riddle was up to.

There he was, standing at ease still. Catching Harry’s glare, Riddle smirked evilly. 

Harry scowled. He watched the younger-version-of-the-Dark-Lord disappear from his line of sight, dodging behind something large and gray. 

Harry let out a frustrated yell. He hoped he hadn’t broken his Firebolt… Gingerly, he turned his broom around in his hands, checking for cracks or splinters. He walked slowly out of the forest, distracted and dazed. Riddle should be coming to finish him off. He should have tied him to a tree or something or called his followers. And yet he hadn’t. Harry turned the Firebolt around again, willing it _up._ It didn’t seem hurt, so he mounted and flew the crow’s path to the castle, feeling uncomfortably like a kicked dog.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tbc...


	4. An Enemy's enemy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Tom Riddle (unsuccessfully?) attempts to make Harry Potter believe that he has no connection to the Dark Lord.
> 
>  ---  
> Harry is obsessed with Riddles. Tom Riddle is no longer the brilliant student in Hogwarts class of 1945, but is something else altogether. He appears to be either a Horcrux or nothing more than memories and magic, unnatural as any chimera. He is suspected of being his grown-up self's accomplice by Harry Potter, but also untrusted by the Slytherin spy, Snape; yet Tom Riddle must obey the Will of Hogwarts. Can Harry ever look past Tom's former self's sins?

Once inside the castle, Harry’s thoughts returned to the dream. Harry leaned against the castle wall, hoping he didn’t look as bad as Riddle had. And Riddle had landed on his _feet._ It was a long walk to the Gryffindor common-room, and it was probably close to curfew.

He tried to remember the exact words Voldemort had said in his dream. He remembered the feelings, the anger that burned in his gut, and he remembered noticing things— important things, but the words slipped through his memory.

His hands grasped the door-frame tightly, and he leaned there for a moment. 

After the harrowing flight from the astronomy tower to the Forbidden Forest, Harry’s head swam. Vertigo plagued him as it never had before, and when his stomach lurched one too many times, he dismounted and leaned on the still-hovering broom. _Just need to sit down for a few minutes._ He thought to himself, sucking in a few deep breathes.

He barely heard the words from behind him, the incantation that didn’t quite sound right. Then a flash of something warm hit him, and a cool, smooth feeling of _calm_ assaulted him.  
Panicked, he threw it off—

— only for it to land on him again, this time with a stronger hold.

“You need Madam Pomfrey, but she’ll wonder what happened, won’t she?” The broom was re-situated so that it was firmly in his grip, and another muttered curse made Harry’s feet fly up before him until he hovered parallel to the ground. 

Harry’s head swam, and this time he didn’t think it was because of his injuries. Something seemed to... _tickle_ his consciousness, to lull him into a sense that everything was fine. Harry had the idea that he ought to resist. To fight whatever it was that _Riddle_ would hit him with, but his own thoughts seemed confused. _Riddle? But he’s just a fourth year. A bullied, quiet scrap of a boy even the Slytherins don’t bother with. He wouldn’t— couldn’t trick you..._

But whatever Tom was doing to help with his headache, that felt _good._ Harry felt rather sleepy, all the sudden.

“Please do try and stay awake.” Riddle’s voice was scathing, and one cold hand touched his brow. “I need you alert.”

That one comment sent a thrill of confusion down his spine, and he jerked away from the cold touch. He struggled against whatever version of _Mobilicorpus_ that Riddle was using, and tried to get his feet down on the floor, but it wasn’t working.

“We need to get you to the school nurse, don’t we?” Riddle asked, his tone mockingly concerned.

Harry swore. “I can go on my own!”

“You,” Riddle said with all the finesse of a cat, “are concussed. You can’t ‘go on your own.’” 

Harry blinked several times, trying to remember the medical details of concussions.

“But we can’t have you going to the nurse, can we...” Riddle continued speaking, probably to keep Harry’s wandering mind focused. “You would get detention.” His hands tightened around Harry’s wrist hard enough to leave a mark. “I’m sure I can think of something.”

Harry felt fear swirl up his throat, clenching in his stomach. But that very fear made him angry— how dare Riddle threaten him in Hogwarts. Right under Dumbledore’s nose. That anger seemed to weaken whatever compulsion Tom had beguiled; Harry felt his thoughts clear. The strange, foreign thoughts that Riddle was somehow _harmless_ dissipated.

“Stop mucking about in my head! I’m not letting you do anymore spell work on me than you’ve already managed. Let’s finish this.”

Riddle actually laughed “You’re in no state to duel, Harry Potter!”

“Oh yeah? But that’s what you said in the graveyard, isn’t it?” He meant for the words to sound defiant, but they came out barely over a whisper.

“Fine.” Riddle dropped the spell, causing Harry to fall to the ground. “Walk up to the tower on your own. Lick your wounds better, for all I care.”

Harry managed to land in a stumbled crouch when Riddle released the Mobilicorpus, and found himself lying there dazed for a moment. He wanted to look at Riddle, to reach for his wand and cast a brilliant counterattack, but all he could do was catch his breath. Finally, when Riddle took a step away, his body realized the danger, and he leapt to his feet.

“Go on.” Riddle scowled. He made no other moves.

Harry ran for the open door, blessedly close. It would be a short sprint, and then he could shout for assistance — 

Then he sensed Riddle behind him, a cold sort of presence that he couldn’t quite explain. “Potter.” He said, and pushed Harry roughly into the wall. That movement sent another flare of pain up his spine, and he saw sparks, followed quickly by ebbing darkness. He groaned without meaning to. Riddle’s hand was on his chest. Riddle’s mouth was moving, but Harry couldn’t make out the words.

Riddle’s hand was moving— prying at his mouth. “— k it, before you hurt yourself,” Riddle was saying. “Open your mouth,” For a complete psychopath, his voice seemed oddly sedate. Velvety and soothing, almost. Not excited or amused, as Harry might have expected, given their situation. 

The bottle was cold against his lips, smooth and comforting. If he closed his eyes, it’d be like any number of potions Madam Pomfrey had given him before.

But he couldn’t look away from Riddle now. His heart was beating entirely too fast, sure that this was a repeat of the Graveyard. Voldemort would have him helpless (by inhibiting potions this time, not by rope...), and he wouldn’t bother with a duel. He would kill him, just as he’d tried to when Harry was a baby.

He tried to cough, to spit it out, to not swallow, but he couldn’t hold his breath long enough.

He swallowed and felt the potion ice its way down his throat.

Now Riddle was chuckling. “My, but you look so nice like this...like a defenseless little thing caught in a web...”

He pulled the bottle away, and brushed Harry’s fringe aside. “There now. That wasn’t so bad, was it? You must feel better.”

Harry stared at him dully, waiting for his heart to slow or stop, waiting for his limbs to deaden... 

“Oh stop; you’re fine. Go on back to the tower now...” Tom waved him away.

“What did you give me,” Harry gasped. “What was it? Tell me, or I’ll— ” He shook his head, trying to ignore the tremor in his voice.

“It was a healing drought, Boy-who-Lived. No one need know you fell from the sky today...” Tom tossed the empty bottle from one hand to the other, and then vanished it completely. He gave Harry a confident smile, like he’d just done a trick.

Harry’s blood raced. His headache _did_ feel better, he realized, even only a minute later. Then again, what if it was a slow-acting potion? What if the headache had been Tom all along? “How do I know you really healed me?” He demanded, but then shook his head. Rather than stick around for answers, he needed to get away, and fast.

Riddle eyed him. “You really aren’t as trusting as they think, are you?”

Harry took a few steps forward, no longer shaky on his feet. 

“I still don’t want to duel you, Potter. Go. Up. To your tower.” Riddle seemed to be losing his patience and as a result his casual, charming act seemed to slip. 

Harry took his chance, and fled, no thought for last challenging remarks left to him.

Finally, the Fat Lady was before him. She wrinkled her nose at him when he approached. “Doing a bit of solitary practice, are we?”

“What?”

“You look terrible.” She informed him before asking, “Password?”

Harry gave the password (Mimbulus mimbletonia), and made to sit down in the nearest cushy chair. 

Hermione looked up from her reviewing, and gave Ron a significant glance. “Harry,” she started, but Harry shook his head.

“We need to go someplace to talk.”

“Right, ah, how about we just go to the, uh, library?” Ron said, trying for casual but coming off as scheming instead.

“It’s almost curfew! Umbridge will be patrolling. You know she will!” Hermione objected.

“So? We’re prefects. We can patrol too. Harry will just be, y’know, coming in from practice or something.” Ron said, already heading for the door.

“Don’t be ridiculous. She’s looking for reasons to get to Harry, you know she is. Who knows what she’ll do,” Hermione insisted. “He’s already had detention twice this week from saying, er, something.” She shot a look at Harry apologetically.

Harry rolled his eyes. “Let’s just go.”

The Fat Lady was not best pleased to be bothered again so quickly after admitting Harry. “Back again? And still not fixed your hair? Oh, goodness gracious, whatever shall we do with you.”

“Sorry,” Hermione replied vaguely, “but we needed him.”

As soon as they were far enough away from prying ears, Harry slowed. “I’ve had a dream.”

Ron laughed nervously. “Save it for Trelawney, ey?” He frowned. “Unless you meant you dreamed while you were flying? Isn’t that dangerous?”

“No, not then. Yesterday night...I sent Sirius a letter yesterday— that’s why I got an owl with his reply...I talked to him about some things, but I don’t know, I can’t really figure out who to go to with this. I mean,” He gave a frustrated sigh. “Snape won’t listen, Dumbledore is avoiding me and Padfoot is stuck in that house. Who am I supposed to give this information to? And it’s _important_ you know?”

Hermione looked at him so seriously that Harry was afraid he’d said something wrong. Finally, she broke the silence by asking, “what do you need to say?”

“I keep telling you.” Harry was so tired he barely kept the anger from his voice. “You can’t listen though. You can’t make out my words.” He took a deep breath. “But worse— besides that, I mean, I saw Voldemort. He’s talking to Dementors.”

“What do you mean, we can’t hear you?” Hermione shook her head, frowning. “Keep your voice down! What if she comes?”

“Dementors again?” Ron chuckled weakly. “Well, that’s not really a surprise...”

“Harry, surely Snape already knows about this. He’s part of the Order! He’s keeping Voldemort informed...it’s not safe, these visions...it can’t be good for you.” Hermione hugged herself, looking too scared to look properly nagging.

Ron was silent for a moment, his eyes darting between Hermione and Harry. “So they already know.” He summarized. “What else do they need to hear? You didn’t get a plan out of him, did you?”

“No.” Hermione interrupted before Harry could answer. “Don’t even start. He can’t have, and he shouldn’t have. You heard what they said— you shouldn’t be having these visions at all!”

Harry turned away from them both, worry and the guilt mixing uncomfortably in his gut. He strode a few steps away. “How do we _know_ the Order knows?”

“What if it isn’t up to Snape? What if Voldemort is keeping two hands, and only one of them he shows to Snape?” He shook his head. “Unless Snape starts telling us what _he_ knows, we can’t be sure. We have to tell someone!”

“Tell someone what?” Tom Riddle’s voice was oddly melodic. So gently coaxing that Harry opens his mouth to reply—

“Voldemort is...” Harry frowned. “Riddle.” He shook his head, wondering he could have done to fall so easily for that. 

Ron and Hermione gave a start. Ron had his hand on his wand, and Hermione just managed to still his movement with a quiet, “No, no, not here! Someone would definitely hear you.” 

Of course, Harry knew that Riddle was more than able to retaliate. When Riddle did nothing, Harry was forced to think of something else to say to his friends. 

Ron and Hermione gave a start. Ron had his hand on his wand, and Hermione just managed to still his movement. She was shaking her head, whispering something that Harry didn’t catch.

“Dementors _again,_ you said? Is he recruiting, then? And you want to tell someone...you must have tried all of the best choices in the castle already, if you’re arguing amongst yourselves now.” Riddle smiled. Although he showed no teeth, he seemed very like a wolf, Harry thought. “That means Dumbledore isn’t listening, or didn’t take you seriously. Curious.”

Instead of commenting, Harry hexed Riddle, moving faster than he would have thought possible a few minutes ago, when he was still feeling his headache and stiff muscles from all the flying.

“Harry!” Hermione hissed. “You can _not_ go hexing underclassmen!” She seemed not to notice that the castle only absorbed the hex meant for Riddle. And still, Riddle drew no wand, whispered no spell.

“Why aren’t you casting spells? Has your magic gone wonky, then, Riddle?” Harry challenged, aiming his wand at the other boy.

“Gone wonky?” Ron repeated, obviously not following. “What do you mean?”

“He hasn’t cast a single curse at me with his _wand_ yet.” Harry said loudly, daring Tom to say otherwise.

“Why would he?” Hermione demanded, missing the point entirely. “He’s never bothered you!”

Harry, outraged, swiveled to look at her.

Ron put a hand on Hermione’s arm. “Um. More importantly— Riddle, go away. This is a private conversation.”

“Private?” Riddle asked, his eyes shining with humor. “In the corridor?”

“Yes,” Harry growled. “Shove off.”

“Why don’t you tell me what Lord Voldemort is up to? I could make a better plan for dealing with him than you ever could.”

“Know how the madman’s mind works, do you?” Harry snapped. “What are you thinking, coming here now?” He took a step forward, calmly lifting his gaze to meet Riddle’s. 

“Although the headmaster is busy weaving plots without your council, Harry, I would listen.” Riddle offered, his tone somehow irritating in spite of sounding outwardly pleasant.

“We’ll have to talk about this later,” Harry said, his hands clenching with anger. “Might as well head back in.”

Riddle’s expression was tight. He looked as though he was fighting several feelings at once; he looked amused on the surface, but Harry suspected he was outraged underneath the facade. His eyes burned. He raised an eyebrow, but seemed unable to come up with a proper response.

“Good night, Tom.” Hermione bid him.

“I don’t see anything good about it.” Riddle snapped back. “You can’t your own eyes, can you?” He seemed unable to wrench his eyes from Harry, and his lips thinned.

Harry turned on his heels, and the others followed.

“We need to talk, Harry,” Riddle called after them, but not even one of them turned around to acknowledge his words.

* * *

Over the next day, Harry tried to find a time and place to talk to his friends, but it seemed like Riddle and the Superintendent were always close at hand, leaving him no opportunity to tell Ron more than the basic details of the dream.

“When’s the next DA?” Ron muttered, “Because one more class of either reenactments _or_ silent reading is going to kill me...”

Harry hummed noncommittally, unsure of how to answer.　

Hermione sighed, and trotted ahead to scout out the classroom. She quickly came back with a warm smile, saying, “Umbridge isn’t there, so we should have a, um, relatively normal class. Really, Ron, I don’t know what you mean. Didn’t you know that reenacting can help some students remember more than just lecture or reading alone could? He’s being remarkably sensible about learning styles.”

Ever since Riddle had showed up to disturb class the week before, Ron and Hermione were a little wary of where they sat. Harry doubted Riddle would be fool enough to pull that stunt again, and so felt a little awkward that the two were so considerate of him. He sat down without a word, pulled out the stack of books and arranged them on the desk.

“All right, settle down, settle down! Today we will study how I fought the Banshee! I have all these gorgeous pictures of the Irish countryside, and some truly stunning artistic representations of me fighting the screaming fairy woman,” Lockhart began. “Sit down, sit down! Neville, if you could move a little to the left, you’re blocking Ms. Patil. Can you all see me?”

Ron rolled his eyes. “Gaaah.” he said quietly.

“What was that?” Lockhart asked brightly. “Do we have a volunteer? Excellent! Most excellent, Harry. I knew we could count on you.” He rounded on the pair of them mercilessly.

Harry closed his eyes, counting to ten slowly.

“Page twenty-seven. Yes. It’s always a much better reading when you stand up, so if you could? Yes, that’s it.” He turned to the class. “‘When one meets a wonderful woman such as this,’ I said to the Banshee, ‘there is really only one thing to do!’“

Harry despondently flipped to the right page and read in a very tired voice, “‘What, pray tell, is that?’”

No sooner had they read these lines, than the door opened, revealing the Superintendent.

The change in Professor Lockhart’s expression was astonishing. He began to chuckle, quickly spouting excuses, “Now, now, boys, I know you all are my fans, but really, class time is not the time. Everyone, books out, and wands away. We’re reading chapter six this week!”

Umbridge lurked behind them for a while, giving Harry the distinct impression that she was judging them all without showing an inkling of what she discovered. She finally did walk around, her heels clicking and her quill scratching as she scribbled. “Miss Patil?” She asked sweetly. “Why is your wand out? Surely you heard Professor Lockhart’s instructions?”

Patil’s eyes fluttered open and closed; she looked overwhelmed. Under the cover of picking up his dropped parchment, Harry tilted his head sharply and hoped she understood the message. _Don’t say anything she can use,_ Harry thought. 

Patil looked hurriedly away, and Harry went back to his desk, tidying away the useless Lockhart-tomes as he glanced vaguely in the direction of Umbridge’s text, _Dark Arts Defense: Basics for Beginners_.

Without his realizing it, Umbridge came up behind him. “Why were you reading from that other book?” She asked quietly. 

“Professor Lockhart mentioned it.” Harry kept his eyes on the textbook.

“Oh really? I find it odd that you question the professor about a book clearly not sanctioned by the ministry, Mr. Potter. Do you think Banshees are likely to attend this classroom?”

Harry straightened, indignant that she should blame him again. “No, Superintendent.” _Breathe. Just breathe. Don’t let her get to you..._

“Then why?” she persisted.

Getting desperate for an answer that might sound less petulant, Harry said, “It doesn’t take the whole class to read a chapter.”

“Well.” The superintendent flashed a meaningful look at Lockhart. “I’m sure the professor and you will have words about this...rebellious reading.” She cleared her throat. Her eyes fixed on something. “Is that...a fashion accessory, Professor Lockhart?”

Lockhart raised his eyebrows at that, attempting to look debonair no doubt, but only succeeded in looking foolish. “Beg your pardon, Superintendent?”

The rest of the students looked up from their reading, amused smiles pulling at their lips. Harry scanned Lockhart’s attire, then the area around him, and sure enough, there seemed to be a pair of reflective sunglasses following the pompous professor, though he seemed altogether unaware of them.

“Those.” She gestured. “Those...things. Glasses.” Umbridge made a stern face.

Recognition dawned on Lockhart, and he turned around like a small dog chasing its tail. The sunglasses, however, persisted in orbiting him from a slight distance, and so he only caught the slightest glimpse of them.

When the class tittered, Lockhart’s cheeks turned faintly red. “Er, those?” he gestured grandly, flashing that famous smile of his.

Umbridge raised an eyebrow, not saying anything.

“They’re sunglasses!” Lockhart laughed. “A sort of glasses. They’re charmed to—to, err, see when students cheat, you see.”

Harry privately doubted this, suspecting that they were more likely a Weasley invention, or some other prankster’s trick.

“What are you waiting for? Go on, back to reading… Harry, talk to me after class.” Lockhart made vague waving gestures to the desks. The sunglasses bobbed, and more students tittered. 

He idly flipped the page of the textbook, thinking that Umbridge was done talking to him. The class would end eventually, and he’d be free to start planning the next DA meeting, where they’d learn more useful things.

* * *

Harry walked the corridors, looking for members of the DA to inform of the next meeting. They had to be careful not to be seen talking to too many of the same lot, but until they worked something out, Harry felt he had no choice.

He turned the corner, and saw a familiar figure. There was Professor Snape, stalking the castle as though he had a personal vendetta to settle. The more he watched, the curiouser Harry felt. In the years past, he had always been quick to suspect Snape, and this year was marked mostly by his inability to believe that Snape truly knew something (anything) useful that would help Harry against Voldemort. Or Tom Riddle. So he employed his considerable skill in sneaking about the castle, and watched the professor swoop down a hall.

“Riddle!” Snape barked. Harry actually jumped, his heart racing. Could it be that Snape had just found Riddle (maybe doing some of his unnatural magic) _He’d have to believe me if he saw it himself,_ he thought. But no. Riddle may be suspicious, standing there by a window, one hand pressed to the stone wall, but he wasn’t technically doing anything wrong.

“Professor Snape?” Riddle asked in that falsely demure voice. His lashes even fluttered a little, as though anyone would believe it.

“You have missed class. Again.” Snape began in a dangerous tone of voice. He closed the distance between them so that he might glare down his nose, and he folded his arms.

“Sir?” Riddle asked, amusement lighting his eyes. That was dangerous, Harry knew from experience. Baiting Snape wasn’t something you did if you wanted to avoid detention.

“Fourth year potions, Riddle, among other classes. You have ever been an insufferable know-it-all. Your arrogance is blatantly discernible, though you show no talent at any of the _delicate_ arts.”

Harry started to smile. Riddle had made another mistake there— letting Snape get into the feel of the lecture was never a good idea; he’d just keep going until the offensive student blew up enough for him to merit a detention.

“Professor, my research— ” Riddle began, but was swiftly interrupted. 

“Your _research status_ will swiftly be revoked if you don’t come to class. You must have practical work to pass the exams.” There was a cruel gleam in Snape’s eye— as though he truly enjoyed laying into Riddle like this. Harry felt a rush of vicious satisfaction; let Snape tear into his enemy— he deserved it far more than Harry ever did, after all. 

All the cruel things Snape had ever said to him, the impossible expectations he seemed to have had never made sense to Harry. The man was bitter, cruel, and not worth trusting as far as he could tell, but Dumbledore did so anyway. Conversely, Riddle was yet unknown— on one hand he seemed to be just another classmate, and one who was desperate for the attention of his peers. Then he had strange spells (wandless, half of them), and shared so little of his purpose. That the two of them should be _enemies_ was unexpected, and it thrilled him. _Voldemort’s spy is not as loyal as he would seem, then?_ he thought.

 

“This is a boarding school, not a research library or inn.” Snape sneered. “No matter Dumbledore’s special researcher status, you are first and foremost a student. And I _will_ not tolerate unexcused absences.” Snape said nothing to this promise. Either he still did not approve Tom’s exam results, or suspected the whole thing as a farce (Harry couldn’t help but hope for that one). He was silent for several breaths while Riddle attempted to look charming. 

“You haven’t been sleeping in the common room, either, Riddle. Your housemates,” his voice was soft and deadly. He stared into Riddle’s eyes, probably trying legelimancy. The silence was heavy... Finally, Snape spoke. “The Dark Lord has been informed of your reply, and there is distinct lack of reply that I find...worrisome.”

That last statement startled Harry badly. Voldemort had been informed? By _who?_ _Snape wouldn’t inform him if he was on_ our _side, would he?_

That thought also made something else come together in his mind; Voldemort had been informed. There was no reply. _Sirius_ had been informed, and Harry’s letter got distorted, his words garbled, and Sirius had never addressed the problem of Tom Riddle.

 _What does it mean?_ he wondered furiously, thinking as fast as he could.

“I’m not going to be sleeping in the dormitory, professor. I— ”

Snape whirled about, suddenly searching the very spot Harry was occupying. He held out a hand to stop Riddle from saying anything more. The professor took several swift steps, and Harry found himself backing into the wall, his mind whirling.

“Potter! What are you doing here?”

Harry made his eyes wide. He shook his head. “Nothing! I was walking,” he tried to sound indignant, bewildered. Like he hadn’t just heard Snape talk about delivering messages to Voldemort.

“Return to your dormitory,” Snape ordered.

“It’s not curfew yet.” Harry stuck his chin out.

“Both of you! Return to your dormitories.” Snape growled.　“Riddle, you will serve your detention with Filch for lunch tomorrow, since your schedule is so free.” His lip curled, and he glared at Harry. “Your detention will be after lessons tomorrow, also with Filch.”

“10 points from Gryffindor and 10 points from Slytherin for disobedience,” Snape said, his voice dangerously soft.

Harry startled. Snape was deducting points from Slytherin? “You’ve never scheduled separate detentions before, not even for Malfoy. Why— ”

“Enough!” Snape snapped. “You two will have separate detentions. And if you don’t return to your own dormitory by curfew, Mr. Riddle, you will have your classmates to answer to. Your special status will give you very little standing if it continues to cost your house points.”

Riddle’s face froze. His eyes a little panicked, his mouth twitching downward in a reluctant frown, he looked very much like any other student. “Professor! I can’t go back to the dormitory— it’s full of lowly Death Eater sympathizers. You can’t expect them to leave me alone— ” Riddle’s face was earnest.

Harry snorted. “Stop trying to put on a show, Riddle.”

Tom frowned at Harry. “I would never associate with such lowlife,” he sneered.

“I find that hard to believe, considering that you created them.”

“The Death Eaters were created by Voldemort.”

“Do not say the Dark Lord’s name so carelessly,” Snape was swift to reprimand, and the sharpness in his words was enough to cut.

Harry looked at his professor and then again at Riddle. The desire to stay quiet, to not say anything slipped away from him, and he blurted, “You _are_ Voldemort. But why are you playing this game? What could you possibly want at Hogwarts?”

Snape rounded on him then, and pulled him so sharply that his ears rung and his jaw throbbed when his mouth snapped shut. Was some kind of wordless curse affecting him even now? 

“If you cannot keep your accusations to yourself, you will be silent.” He hissed. “Report for detention after dinner tomorrow, and desist in this ridiculous goose chase. The Dark Lord is not here, and he never was.” He turned Harry away and set him stumbling into the hallway.

“I do not know what you think you’re doing with Potter,” Snape hissed, and Harry felt his irritation sharpen. He struggled against the curse that snapped his mouth shut and set his feet walking, and finally felt the tension ease when he pointed his wand at his feet and _willed_ it away.

Riddle didn’t appear to reply, but that didn’t mean much. He could be sullen, that much Harry knew for sure.

“But even the lowest half-wit knows that Potter is _off limits._ You are a poor excuse of a Slytherin, but surely even you can manage that.” He finished, and Harry imagined him crossing his arms.

“Get out of my sight.” Snape said in a voice that clearly said, ‘and I won’t care if you wind up dead, your body stuffed in a broom closet either.’ It felt wrong that Snape should treat his own House’s student so, and resentment welled up in Harry’s stomach.

One thing was sure— Snape didn’t trust Riddle to be an innocent student either, but this was not the relief he thought it would be. _Snape knows something. Something from outside the Castle?_ he mused.

You don’t know half of what I am. You _can’t_ tell him about me,” Riddle called after the potions master. “Don’t you understand? I’m protected!” He held out his arms (rather pretentiously, Harry thought), but Harry thought he detected more than a little unease in Riddle’s statement.

“Well. That certainly was enlightening.” Harry told Riddle conversationally. And he left the other to fume on his own.


	5. Realizations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry is on the verge of epiphany: the truth is just waiting for him, when Snape returns with an unlikely announcement.

“Carry on, carry on. Oh, excuse me,” Professor Lockhart blazed a trail through the students in the corridor, apparently attempting to out pace the pair of enchanted sunglasses bobbing after him.

“Harry!” Lockhart’s trademark smile seemed a little too bright for the circumstances. “A moment?” He grabbed Harry by the arm, ignoring his protests.

“Sir, I need to go to transfiguration—” Harry tried, glancing around at the students giggling and pointing at the pair of them.

“Nonsense, I won’t stop you long.” Lockhart navigated the hallway like a Veteran, pushing Harry in a slightly less visible space between two sets of armor. 

“How are classes going then, Harry? Is it true you’ve started a Defense club?” He winked noticeably. “Superintendent Umbridge seems to think you’re quite the rebel.”

Harry tried to look confused. “A club, sir? Oh no, I’m busy studying for the OWLS and Quidditch. I couldn’t possibly think of joining a club.”

Professor Lockhart looked disappointed. “Of course you are, Harry. I’ll see if I can work my charm around her, shall I?” He beamed, expecting Harry to thank him profusely. “I’m sure a lot of you in fifth year could really use an extra opportunity to revise with me!” Lockhart’s smile faded into a look of mild alarm. “What’s this—oh, not again—”

The sunglasses seemed to be climbing his cape, finally stopping when they reached Lockhart’s shoulder. 

“Professor?” Harry asked, barely stifling a grin. “What’s that?”

“Oh blast it all. I can’t seem to get them to go away… But do keep that quiet, Harry. It, er, doesn’t look good… I don’t know what’s gotten into them! Following me about at all hours. This is rather unusual.” He glared at the glasses. “Though come to think of it, they did seem rather interested in Riddle as well…” 

Harry frowned. “Did you try asking one of the professors, sir? They might be able to help… Excuse me, I really do need to get going,” Harry gestured to the classrooms. 

“Yes, yes, of course. I'll see you in class then Mr. Potter.” Lockhart waved in a friendly manner.

“Trying to ask for advice on how to recover your popularity, Potter?” Zacharias Smith glowered over at Harry. 

“Shove off, Smith.” Harry, who didn’t actually have Transfiuration for another ten minutes, looked around to see if he could find someone (anyone but Smith) to walk with. 

However, his House-Mates were well ahead of him (perhaps finally glad to be away from someone so 'obsessed' with an underclassman.) He resolved himself to either out-pacing Smith, or putting up with him.

“When's the next DA?” Smith asked irritatingly, successfully stalling Harry from his escape plan.

“Not now, Smith...” Harry cast a glance towards the Professor. “I heard Umbridge is here today.”

Smith raised his eyebrows. “So we'll let that old frog stop us then?” He demanded. “Quite some resistance you're leading, isn't it?”

“Keep it down, Smith.” Harry growled. “Ask someone in your house. Everyone knows we don't get on, so try not to speak to me in public. Do I have to spell it out to you?” Harry tried to keep his voice low, tried to say it neutrally, but somehow it still felt like several of the students around them were staring.

“Rubbish! You talk with Malfoy and Riddle all the time,” the Hufflepuff said.

Harry rolled his eyes. “So you wouldn't mind trading insults and _not_ following me like a puppy?” 

“So what do you call what you do to Riddle?” Smith asked, sounding genuinely interested.

Harry stopped walking, letting Smith get a few steps ahead of him. He’d let Smith walk away, and not give him the satisfaction of an answer. Harry didn’t understand his situation with Riddle, after all. How could he give an answer? 

Riddle. Half the school had noticed his interest in the boy by now, and if that was true, then Umbridge might have too. Then he thought, _What if she_ has _noticed there's a student here who never was before? What if the memory charm is affecting the entire school, but_ nowhere else?

Harry stopped in his tracks, his mind whirling. The letter to Sirius...the firecall... They didn't know. _That_ had to be proof of some spell at work.

Snape's words from the night before flashed through his mind: _The Dark Lord has been informed of Tom’s answer, and there is distinct lack of reply that I find...worrisome._

Snape had tried to contact the Dark Lord... and not gotten an answer. Did that mean Voldemort never got the message? What could possibly make the castle distort every letter? One person couldn't do it, or there'd be no need to check the Owls. _Is it Riddle? Or is it something else?_

“Hello Harry,” a dazed but sweet voice interrupted his thinking. Harry realized he must have been standing at the side of the corridor like an idiot, frozen with the revelation. She continued speaking though, as if it wasn't odd at all to find a student standing still amidst the crowded front hall. “What did you find? I always thought this hallway had a nice colony of Blibbering Humdingers,” Luna added thoughtfully.

“You do look like you found one of the Quibbler's creatures,” Ginny said seriously.

“I uh, was thinking. I don't think anyone knows about Riddle outside the Castle,” Harry blurted. He looked at Luna, wondering how the spell would rephrase his words to her ears.

She looked at him serenely, giving no hint to her understanding. 

Ginny answered instead. “What do you mean?” She asked slowly.

“Just that.” Harry said hurriedly, “Whenever I talk about him here, the memory charm-- curse, more like it-- keeps other students from hearing what I say. They make up memories and the things to support them. But _outside,_ the information gets garbled. So they have no idea he's here!”

Ginny took a deep breath. “Ok... that sounds right... but how? How could he have gotten in?”

Harry shook his head, racking his brain for possible answers. “I don't know.”

“Perhaps the way they always do,” Luna offered in that tentative way of hers, “by moonlight and on the trails of people's thoughts.”

Ginny looked at Luna, startled. “Do you know what we're talking about?”

“Sometimes.” Luna supplied. “Then other times it sounds like wind-chimes passing through your mouths. It must be awfully uncomfortable.” She turned to Harry, “does it hurt?”

“Umm. Well, Riddle. He's said all sorts of things...” Harry wrinkled his brow. “He said he's not Voldemort, for one. 

“He told me something like that as well.” Ginny’s eyes flashed. “He kept saying that he wasn’t the diary…And that the Castle wanted me to find him-- did you hear that? As though Hogwarts would ever want _him_ back.”

“He told you that?” Harry was surprised. “That the _castle_ wanted you to know?” 

Ginny nodded tightly. “He's mentioned. Also he said that the Castle wanted you to find him. That we were meant to help him. Like we’d ever help a piece of You Know Who!” 

_A piece of him. A piece of his memory-- a piece of him. Where had that diary gone?_

“Maybe he _is_ the diary,” Harry breathed. “What did Malfoy do with it? I never should have given it back to him!” Harry ground his teeth in frustration.

Ginny blinked in surprise at those words, and her cheeks flushed red. “The diary.” She breathed. “Yes, that's it...that explains why it's you and me.” She spoke excitedly. “It fits.”

Harry was momentarily silent, struck by her reaction. She didn't blame him. Harry was relieved and surprised all at once-- shouldn't she hate that he'd given her tormenter back to the family.

“Maybe you-- you wrote in it.” Harry shook his head. “I wrote in it only for one night... maybe it's more to do with my connection with Voldemort.”

“Your…connection?” Ginny looked concerned. 

“I, uh, can sometimes see into his mind when I’m asleep.” Harry said out of the corner of his mouth. “It doesn’t happen all that often,” he was quick to add.

“Just with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?” Luna asked, as calm as she ever was. “Or do you dream about other people too?” 

“Er, Voldemort is usually in it.” Harry hedged. 

“You should keep a dream diary,” Luna advised. “You'd be surprised what we can learn from our dreams... you don't have to share them aloud in class like Professor Trelawney asks.”

“That's a really good idea, Luna.” Ginny sighed. “I used to get all these nightmares back in first year... I think they might have been warnings.”

Harry looked between Luna and Ginny with surprise. When Ginny had sat with them in the compartment at the beginning of school, she'd only said Luna was 'all right.' That she valued Luna's opinion was surprising, but somewhat comforting. Maybe he _ought_ to keep a dream diary-- if only a Voldemort-related one. But maybe he ought to write it in code...

“But what if someone else looks at it? What if someone in Slytherin finds it?” he said allowed, and then his brain started working again. There was at least one artifact that he knew of with that sort of protection (he didn’t want to consider the _other_ ) 

_“Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs Purveyors of Aids to Magical Mischief-Makers are proud to present. THE MARAUDER'S MAP.”_ Password protected…that might do…

“I need to write Lupin...” he decided. “Listen, thanks, but I am going to be late to Transfiguration if I don't go now.” He babbled, already mentally composing it in his head.

So Harry nodded politely at the both of them, and ran off to class.

* * *

Dolores Umbridge smiled down at him from her desk (though Harry personally thought a Superintendent didn't deserve her own office), and simpered, “There, I think that is enough for today. The words appear to have...sunk in.” She flashed her teeth at him.

“Now, please tell me in your own words why you were here today, and what you shall do to avoid such offenses in the future.”

“I’ll try not to grin during any of your inspections again, Superintendent.” Harry droned, flexing his stiff fingers. To be honest, he doubted that he would find anything to smile about during her inspections. Flitwick and McGonagall may have passed the inspections without comment, but if he had any more like the Divination inspection in October, he doubted he’d be amused. 

“See that you keep to your studies, Mr. Potter, at _all_ times. Theory is very important, as I keep reminding all of you. I know you were lying about whatever you and your friends were laughing about. You must tell the truth, Mr. Potter,” she crooned, her eyes narrow with satisfaction. 

Harry didn’t bother keeping the blood from running onto the parchment, blotting the endless repetitions of ‘I must not tell lies.’ 

“Yes, Superintendent.” He agreed stiffly, ignoring the fact that he hadn't actually lied to her. Harry pushed himself away from the table and turned to the door. 

“Be careful,” she said softly, “or you'll find your bad habits follow you to tough places.” He wondered if it was really advice, or a threat.

He reached the door, opened it, and nodded at her once before he passed through the portal. _Be polite, cool as stone, and she can't get you back._ he told himself. _You have better things to do than detention!_

“Good afternoon, Potter. You certainly kept me waiting...” a proud, quiet voice said from the shadows. Harry turned to the left to see Riddle leaning against a tapestry. “Inconsiderate of her to schedule a detention on a Hogsemeade day.” He added lightly.

“What do you want?” Harry looked at Riddle carefully, trying to gauge whether or not the boy was a threat or not.

“I wish to speak with you,” Riddle said, coming forward and inexplicably taking Harry's hand in his own, “but I noticed you...have other things on your mind.” He squinted at the raw flesh.

Harry snatched his hand away, but he couldn't help but notice the blood flecked on Riddle's slender fingers. “ _Speak_ with me?” He challenged. “When you've been unsuccessfully avoiding me all last week.”

Riddle's lips quirked into a smile. “You made it very tempting by trying to stalk me.” He noted, but his eyes never left Harry's hand. “Does it hurt?” he asked softly.

“Of course it hurts! She uses a Blood Quill. A dark artifact I'm sure you're very familiar with,” Harry said with venom.

“Let me help you,” Riddle murmured, reaching for Harry's hand. Harry was so startled by this motion that he left Riddle grasping for empty air. His fingertips only briefly made contact with Harry’s skin.

He stepped back, heart hammering in his chest. “Like you helped me with the headache?” he said through gritted teeth. That left me nauseous and unable to talk for hours!”

Riddle rolled his eyes. “That was the concussion, Harry Potter.”

“The concussion you gave me.” Harry retorted, wondering why he was even having this conversation. He started to walk away. “I don't know what you meant by 'the castle wants you to know,' or whatever rubbish you told Ginny, but I don't want anything to do with you.”

“Aside from stalking me.” Riddle replied snidely, his hands curling into fists. His eyes were still on Harry's still-bleeding hand though, as though fixated on it.

Harry laughed sharply. “Is it all right for you to be here?” He demanded. “So close to Umbridge, who comes and goes from the castle?”

Riddle fixed him with a contemplative stare. “You're trying to work things out, aren't you? How amusing. But if you and Weasley aren't going to be helpful, I think it's best I don't give you any potentially dangerous information.”

Harry folded his arms in front of his chest. “I worked out that much. People outside don't know about you. Snape tried to tell Voldemort, but Voldemort never got the message. What does that _mean?_ “

“That I'm not working with the Dark Lord,” Riddle was swift to reply.

Harry rolled his eyes. “So you make up another side altogether then, do you?”  
He shook his head. “Not on Dumbledore's side, not on Voldemort's.”

“Dumbledore will come around,” Riddle said with more conviction than Harry thought possible. “When Hogwarts can manage to manifest a message or a sign other than myself, he will see the wisdom of her solution.”

Harry's thoughts wheeled as he took a few steps closer to Riddle, as though the proximity would explain things to him. “You make no sense.”

“I'm going to Hogsmeade.” Riddle announced. “Come with me.”

“Wha-what? No! And I thought you couldn't leave the grounds-- wasn't that why you jumped off my broom?”

“I jumped off your broom because I didn't like the idea of flying into a tree. Or falling on one. The ground seemed the better solution,” Riddle said airily.

Harry shook his head, trying to understand what he could do to make this situation make more sense. “What do you want to show me in Hogsmeade?” Harry asked finally, thinking that if Draco had ever been this forward in trying to take advantage of him, he'd have followed and attempted to forestall any wrong-doings. Sadly, though, Draco had never been this clever.

“There are Death Eaters in Hogsmeade.” Riddle deadpanned.

Harry recoiled, even as Riddle began to laugh.

“I want some help looking for magical supplies... catch a few magical creatures.” The mirth never left Riddle's eyes.

Harry sputtered.

“But to be fair, there may be Death Eaters anywhere... Are you scared?”

Harry bristled. “Why should I be? The Death Eaters are all fools-- you couldn't get anyone else.” He thought of the dream, of Lucius Malfoy promising the Giants to Voldemort, and wondered what other weapons Voldemort might be gathering. “What do you know about the Death Eaters?” He asked suddenly, wondering if he could get information _without_ going along.

“Less than you do, I suspect. Unless you want to tell me about your vision?”

“I thought as much.” Harry said with a smile, hoping to catch Riddle unawares. He may truly know little, but perhaps he could trick the other into sharing even a scrap of information.

As Harry had hoped, this predictability made Riddle's lips thin. “You have much to show me,” Riddle muttered, “and more to tell me. But you _will not._ ” He hissed.

That was interesting. Riddle still had that volatile anger in him, just like Voldemort, just like the Memory Harry had seen from the diary. “I'm listening now.” Harry argued, hoping that would be enough.

Riddle gave a frustrated sigh, clenching his jaw. “We can talk on the way to Hogsmede,” he offered.

“No deal. I'm not leaving Hogwarts with you.” 

Riddle gave Harry such a calculating look that Harry couldn't help but feel like he'd won the upper hand. If only he wasn't dripping blood down the sleeves of his robes...

Riddle turned away slowly, apparently loathe to show his defeat so openly. "Another time, then, Harry," he invited, his voice echoing off the walls.

Harry felt his jaw slowly unclench as he tried to massage some feeling back into his injured hand. So, Riddle _could_ leave the castle...or wanted Harry to think that he could.

He waited several long minutes before walking in that direction, his heart thumping erratically as he did so. He felt the tension building, wondering what he might find if he followed Tom-- or what Tom would make of it if he was caught following.

 _He'd tell me about repressed desires and the danger it gives your magic,_ he thought glumly.

So Harry delayed first by going to the Gryffindor Tower, where he pulled his invisibility cloak out of his trunk and hurried out the door after the rest of the Hogwarts students, though technically there was only a bit of time left before they all had to come back.

He was still undecided as to whether he would wait and watch the path to the village, or if he would actually go after Riddle, but Harry thought he could decide along the way. Which was sort of making a decision, but that seemed all right. _Right. Not walking into a trap..._

"All Hogwarts students are to return to Hogwarts grounds immediately!" the familiar voice of Snape carried unexpectedly far, sounding as cross as he ever did in potions class.

Crows cawed, and students startled on the path. Harry wasn't the only one searching the area for a glimpse of the professor, a bad feeling about what could have spurred this unprecedented announcement.

Snape had cast a sonorous charm, it seemed, for his voice echoed far across the gardens of Hogwarts grounds. "All students!" he intoned. "Return to the castle immediately!" Unlike Bagman's voice, which hand thundered and bellowed under effect of the charm, Snape's voice felt like a deep bell-- it shook every bone in your body and left a peculiar ringing even after it was gone.

Harry stared in the direction of the voice, rooted to the spot. If he thought about it, everything would come together, he knew it would.

"Severus, calm yourself. What is the meaning of this? The students are going to be quite alarmed..." Professor Dumbledore emerged from a door Harry had never noticed before, knitting needles clutched in one hand rather than his wand. 

Severus Snape whirled on the Headmaster. "I have just returned..." Snape hissed, his hand clutching at the spot on his arm marked by Voldemort. "It is imperative that the students-- all of the students-- get themselves behind the castle walls. I can say no more… The Dark Lord’s servants are in Hogsmeade.” 

Harry stopped at that. Had Riddle called the Death Eaters there? Or was _Riddle_ the one walking blind into a trap? He was surprised at his own worrying, but he knew instantly what he should do. Harry Potter took off running.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


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